The adventures of Heine
At eight o’clock in the morning I was taking my breakfast in the
station-buffet at Edinburgh. Von Kahn was awaiting me, and over the
meal, served by a sleepy waitress, I had an opportunity of retailing
the events which had led to my hasty departure from London. Von Kahn
stroked his moustache thoughtfully.
“Koos was an impetuous man,” he said, “I am not surprised that he has
been detected. You must not forget, my dear Heine, that we Germans
have only one thought, only one goal, the welfare of the Fatherland.
Koos allowed his penchant for feminine society to overcome his
judgment. That is a mistake which I should never make.”
I looked at our good von Kahn, with his big red face and his short,
well-fed body, and I could not help thinking that it would be indeed a
remarkable circumstance if he allowed himself to be lured to
destruction in such a manner.
He joined the train and went on with me to Dundee. We had not gone far
from the station before the train stopped and an attendant came in and
pulled down all the blinds, removing, in spite of our protest, all our
baggage, which he locked in an empty compartment.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said the man, “but those are my orders.”
For a moment I had a cold feeling inside me that I was suspected, but
his next words reassured me.
“We do it to everybody, sir, before we cross the ---- Bridge.”
When he had gone I turned to von Kahn.
“This is an extraordinary thing,” I said. “I never suspected the
English of taking such intelligent precautions.”
Von Kahn laughed.
“The English here are Scots,” he said, “and they are very cautious.”
I should have dearly liked to peep out when the rumble of the wheels
told me we were passing the famous bridge, but in the corridor outside
the carriage I discovered, to my amazement, a Scottish soldier with
fixed bayonet, and for some reason or other his eyes never left us.
It was not until we were a very long way past the bridge that the
attendant returned my bag and suit-case and pulled up the blind, and
not until we reached Dundee that I discussed the matter at all with
von Kahn.
“I have reason to believe,” he said, “that we have passed a portion of
the British Fleet, and it will be my endeavour during the next few
days to discover what units are at present in the region of Rosyth.”
He told me this in the cab on the way to our hotel and he also gave me
a great deal of information about the East Coast defences which it had
been his business to investigate.
“It is practically impossible to get near the important parts of the
coast,” he said, “and I think you must give up all idea of
establishing light-signal stations at X and Q.”
This was a sad disappointment to me, which I did not attempt to hide.
“My dear von Kahn,” I said testily, “you are getting hypnotised by the
English. You are giving them credit for gifts which are not theirs.
You are imagining that these people, these Scotch for example, have
the same keen national sense of suspicion as we Germans possess.”
We drove the rest of the journey to an hotel in silence. I registered
here in the name by which I was known to the Chilian Legation.
I had never been in Dundee before and I hope I may never see the town
again, for reasons which will be sufficiently obvious to all the good
friends who read my narrative.
Dundee is a sad, grey town, so grim on the rainy morning I arrived,
that I was filled with a strange sense of foreboding. It is a city of
high chimney-stacks that stream smoke, and of clanging tramway cars.
I don’t know whether it was my imagination, or due to the shock of
poor Koos’ arrest, but it also seemed that it was a town of
graveyards, for whichever way I went I seemed always to return to one
drear space of tombstones and sad trees.
My local agent here was a barber named Shmidt, and the first thing I
did on my arrival at the hotel was to send for a barber! What was more
natural than that a weary traveller should require shaving! Ah! do not
smile, my friends! By such acts of forethought and detail was our
great service built up and wonderfully established. Our good friend
came with his little black-leather bag and was admitted to my room.
The honest fellow was almost overcome by the sight of one whom he
regarded as being a veritable link between himself and his Supreme War
Lord.
“It is beautiful to be able to speak our noble German tongue again,”
he said; “think of it, Herr Heine! Here I am week in and week out
talking Scotch--not even English.”
He had much to tell me that I committed to memory. He even had had the
good fortune to be called in professionally to an admiral who was
passing through Dundee on the way to a certain town in the north.
“Naturally,” said Shmidt, “I was extremely tactful and
suspicion-avoiding. But, Herr Heine, not even the high officers of
State know discretion. Reticence is not!
“‘I wish you’d take me with you, Sir Jones,’ I said; he was well-born
and had been created a Sir for war knowledge.
“‘Come along,’ said Sir Jones, ‘but I’m afraid you will not be
comfortable when our fleet goes into action next week against
Heligoland.’
“‘That is a strong fortress, Admiral,’ I said.
“‘We have been undermining it for a month,’ said Sir Jones.
“Herr Heine, I nearly fainted with excitement. Consider the position.
Here was I, a faithful servant of the Fatherland, listening to one of
the most important military secrets from an Excellency of the English
Navy. I kept my blood cool and went on lathering without a tremble of
hand.’
“‘That must have been terribly difficult, Sir Jones,’ I said.
“‘Not at all,’ said Sir Jones; ‘we have a new submarine on wheels that
creeps along the bed of the ocean and fortunately there are beneath
Heligoland several very large caves in which our divers can store
explosives. I trust you will regard all I have told you as
confidential!’”
By the time Shmidt had finished I was on my feet. I knew that there
had been a secret vote or appropriation for the British Navy a year
before. So this was the reason.
“Send Herr von Kahn to me, you will find him in Room 84,” I said; and
long before my companion had arrived I was working at my codes.
“We must find a way to get this information to Germany,” I said.
“The way is simple,” said he; “the _Sven Gustavus_ is in harbour,
waiting to clear for Bergen. She has wireless, and outside of the
territorial waters she can get into touch with the Bremen wireless
station.”
The message I sent was a long one, and I have since learnt that it
created something like a sensation at the Admiralty. All the warships
in the vicinity of Heligoland were ordered away, the Corps of Divers
came from Cuxhaven and the foundations of the island were thoroughly
explored, although the Admiralty Marine Survey Department was emphatic
on the point that no caverns existed under the island.
As a matter of fact none were discovered, though a certain
suspicious-looking hole was found in one of the rocks.[3]
I cannot believe that a High Officer of State who was also a Sir would
condescend to a lie or be so frivolous as to invent such a story, and
to this day I believe that my promptitude in notifying Berlin in all
probability saved the Fatherland from an incalculable disaster. It was
after I had sent this message away, together with certain data which I
received from London, that I set about the business which had induced
me to choose Dundee as the scene of my sojourn.
Scotland had an importance in our scheme which many people have made
the mistake of under-estimating. To appreciate that importance, let us
examine the nature of the German Plan in the event of war. Britain’s
strength and weakness lay in her great extent and in the homogeneous
nature of her people. In this respect she resembled the Royal and
Imperial Empire of Austria-Hungary, with its German, Magyar, Czec,
Slav and Jugo-Slav, Italian, Serbian, and Roumanian subjects.
Austria-Hungary, however, had this advantage, that whatever views
might be held, whatever dissatisfaction and dissensions might exist
amongst the peoples, the Empire was organised for control by a certain
authority. Britain was not so organised. The English hated the Irish,
the Welsh hated the English, the Scotch despised both, and the Irish
hated everybody, including themselves. At the outbreak of war the
north and south of Ireland were on the brink of civil war, a great
strike was pending in Wales (of this more anon), and the Scottish
industrial classes, particularly on the Clyde, were in a state of
unrest.
Outside of the island kingdoms we had an Egypt ripe for rebellion,
with the Khedive on our side, we had India seething with sedition, and
South Africa organised for revolt under two of the most popular of the
Boer Generals in De la Rey and De Wet. Our task was, of course, to
drive the wedges of dissension still deeper, and largely my work was
specialised in this direction, for now the routine of gathering naval
and military information was so smoothly-running that there was
nothing for me to do but to sort out the news which came to me and
pass it along to the proper quarters.
And here I might explain that there were in reality two branches of
Investigation. There was my own, which comprehended all the hackwork
of espionage and propaganda, and there was the Higher Service with
which I was seldom brought into contact. The Higher Service was unpaid
but skilfully organised. Its members were practically unknown to one
another, though most of them were known to me and watched by my
agents. We Germans leave nothing to chance. In Scotland, living not a
very long way from Dundee, was one whom for certain reasons I regarded
as a good friend of ours and who was known locally as “Mr. Brown from
Australia.”
He had a cottage in the loveliest part of the Highlands,[4] where he
lived for three months in the year, spending his time in fishing one
of the little rivers in the neighbourhood. Beyond that he was
eccentric and had had a big flag-staff erected before his cottage on
which he used to fly the Australian flag, little was known of him.
He had few visitors. His cottage was on an inhospitable spur of the
hills, which was more often than not wreathed in the low-lying clouds
or mists which seem to be a permanent feature of this country.
Now and again a member of the Mounted Constabulary would ride up and
exchange a few words or even go inside for a glass of refreshment when
he saw the flag flying, which was always a sign that Mr. Brown was in
residence.
He had one servant, a Swiss youth, who was valet, groom and cook.
I have said about the Higher Service that I knew most of the members.
Some of the names had been officially supplied to me, before my return
to England to take up my work, by von Igel, who was practically in
charge of all the commercial work in New York. Some of them I had
already located on my previous visits to England; while some were so
important, so well-born and so well-connected with Illustrious
Excellencies, that not only were their names withheld from me but I
was discouraged whenever I applied to Headquarters for information.
My local agents in Scotland had already marked down Mr. Brown, of
Australia, and I had put through an inquiry about this gentleman,
informing the _Kriegsministerium_ that he was evidently well educated,
that he was a fluent German scholar, and that he belonged to a
superior London club, much frequented by ministers and attachés.
Obviously his name was not “Brown,” and the two surreptitious views I
secured of him, one close at hand and one through powerful
field-glasses, left no doubt in my mind that he was a son of the
Fatherland. We Germans have an instinct one for the other, a sort of